Storms and Fevers
by Marawr
Summary: Are you as scared as I am. Drugs/Adult themes etc. Axel / Roxas
1. Prologue

The Prologue

**Another fic, drug central this time, over dramatic as always. Thanks for reading –heart-- **

--

The Prologue.

_Are you as scared as I am?_

"_Teenage years are the best of your life, live them to the fullest_," Right? That's what I've been told. Multiple Times. They try to spoon feed me that same bullshit every single day, when they should be saying "_Teenage years are the most confusing, and fucked up of your life; __**Beware**_,"

Because that's what the are, confusing and well past fucked up. Well mine have been so far anyway; take last night for example, it can only be surmised in an equation. What do you get when you subtract the parents, add their child's (your best friends') basement, plus their sound system and three drug-fucked teenagers?

I'll tell you what you get;

One hell of a headache, confusion amplifying that pain when you try to figure out why your pants aren't where you left them; instead of hanging from your hips, they're on the floor a good three meters away from the place you hadn't moved from all night.

It hurts like hell the day after, but it's worth it right? Worth it to forget _everything _for one night. One night that'll be repeated again. And again. **And **again.

Then your parents see their expensive antique one of a kind vase (which you apologized for 'breaking') in the front window of the pawn shop where you hocked it.

Or maybe noticed the patterns on your upper arms, colored with blood as apposed to ink, or the burn marks on your forearms where your friend said that he could "bear the pain for longer than you".

And yes, this is the same friend who's basement you passed out in, and who's head is now using your stomach as a pillow.

Friends. Great, aren't they? Mine are, _all two of them_. Both of whom are emotionally fucked, which, might I say, makes them all the more interesting.

The first to mention should be Axel, known him for. . . Well, I don't remember, but a while now. He's the one who's basement I'm in, what a great way to tell the two of them apart (discluding the several obvious physical differences) there's the one who lives in the basement and the one who lives in the attic. Axel dislikes a lot of things, so I don't think I'll go through that list, unless you have a spare day, which I presume you don't. The things he does like: Fire, Demyx and I and, well, bluntly? drugs. Which is awkward with parents as straightedge as his. Maybe that's the reason behind it, or y'know, not. I blame him for my problems, if I trip over it's his fault. Same with if I go on a bad high. Though that _is _actually _his_ fault most of the time.

Demyx, on the other hand likes a lot of things; blue, dolphins, water in general, music etc. and dislikes very little, quite the opposite of dear Axel. He's probably the cleanest out of the three of us, which really doesn't say much. He'll drink himself to death and smoke some, but would rather kill a dolphin than do ecstasy. But then again he doesn't need it, he is on a permanent natural high. Relatively.

I know, I know "Both of whom are emotionally fucked", his is more like an unconditional happiness, which makes both Axel and I a little homicidal. But only a little.

We go to this all boys private school, courtesy of our parents who think we'll get good grades if there aren't girls 'distracting' us. Needless to say, we do not get good grades. After one week I'd already been labeled "_the stoner_" which was very accepting. In the second week I met Axel, he's a grade higher so I didn't meet him through class. But one day on my way to Sports class I passed by the sports shed (next to which was Axel having a smoke), some randoms yelled something about the stoners (being us) and we started talking, is that a normal introduction? Well Demyx's was even more so strange. He came in a few weeks later, Axel and I were ditching class and while walking we turned a corner and found him passed out, propped up against the legendary sports shed. Axel kicked him awake and when his red bloodshot eyes drifted open we decided to befriend him. Hmm, good times. Moving on, unfortunately with being "the stoner's" comes the group of 'cool' guys who want to, quite frankly, stab you in the gut-- and they'll most likely wait till we're shit-faced and can't fight back. Mind, Axel's an aggressive person ninety percent of the time, one percent being sleep, because he could still deck someone in a state of slumber. The rest is when he's coming down, which is awful and, incidently, his only time of vulnerability.

And that's about it really.

--

_Cheers Dan_

**REVIEWS PLEASE**


	2. Crawling

I wake with a slowly, confusion clouding my eyes, the low hum of "Crawling" by Linkin Park, gradually becoming louder as time

I wake up slowly, confusion clouding my eyes, the low hum of "_Crawling_" by Linkin Park, gradually becoming louder as time goes by. I roll my body out from under Axel's head (which emits a loud unpleasant thud when it hits the floor) and reach groggily for my pants; pulling them over to me I retrieve my mobile from their pocket.

"Yeah?" I ask croakily after flipping the phone open. My father's (pissed off) voice sounds through the line loudly, and my instant reaction is to hold it away from me. I turn the volume down and pull it back to my ear. He continues ranting, pausing occasionally to allow me to answer with a _yes_ or _no_. "Mmph, I'll be back later," I say eventually, impatience lacing my words. He replies with some shit about '_getting home right this instant_' Asshole. If I wasn't still half asleep I'd attempt to yell at him.

"But I--" I start, he cuts me off. I wait a moment, half listening and fiddling with the hem of my boxers. "Hmm, why?" I ask. Moments pause again while he replies then a "Yeah, I guess, I'll be home soon" and I flip my phone shut before he can start up again.

I throw my phone at the floor, earning a loud crack on the part of the concrete flooring not covered by carpet. It'll be okay though, it's the brick of the flip phone world. I kick on my jeans, whilst still sitting (much harder than it sounds) and then draw my knees up to my chest. I sigh heavily and fall backwards, arms still hugging my legs, into Axel. Said pyromaniac raises an eyebrow slightly.

"'S' wrong?" he asks, looking down at me (he's about half a ft. taller) as I spin around as to not be leaning on him.

"I dunno, he's just such a fucking asshole," I say gruffly, reaching over and picking up a sneaker, yanking it onto my foot. "It's like, I'm here, so I MUST be avoiding them so then they have to call to make sure I'm coming back. So that when I do come back--" I pause a moment, pulling my laces into a knot, "--they can yell at me for a bit, lock me in my room and come in five minutes later to check I'm still there, oh, and so that they can lecture me some more. Apparently they 'don't pay 3000 dollars a year for me to just be slacking off'," I glance up at Axel, who's suppressing a smirk. "I don't know what they think I do here, 'oh no, our "loving" son must be off doing drugs with that good-for-nothing _older _boy'," I mimic, see, ranting can be fun, that is, if you ignore the look Axel gives you that says "_you sound like Kairi bitching_". I pick up my other sneaker and pull it on, glancing at Demyx in the process who somehow managed to collapse on Axels' couch, still snoring softly. "You're the good-for-nothing older boy by the way,' I add.

"I guessed," he said blankly. "Continue, _Kairi_" I ignore this.

"Why does everyone automatically think I do drugs? I mean, okay so I do, but that's beside the point. Am I talking really, really fast? It feels like it, but I can't tell. Axel, what did you give me last night, like seriously, I feel like shit more than I usually--" At this point I find chapped lips pressed against mine, normally I wouldn't mind being interrupted by this. However, usually if this were to happen it would in fact be a female on the other end. Not my best friend who stinks of alcohol, sweat and drugs. After a second or two of registering what was happening I pull away. "--The FUCK?? Are you **that** out of it?!" I demand, he hesitates, traces of hurt visible on his face.

Then I do something neither of us expect. I don't know how it's possible to surprise yourself, but somehow I managed it. One hand on either side of his jaw, my lips pressed more forcedly than his had been upon mine, putting all my hate and frustration into that one moment. However, that moment expires and I realize what I'm doing. I jerk away abruptly, stand and head towards the staircase, lifting my jacket from the floor in the process.

The half hour walk home passes in less time than imaginable. Not because I've been walking quickly, just because I'm so brain-dead and confused that it seems as though no time had passed. Once indoors I all but run upstairs and into the bathroom. It takes almost a full hour till my mom comes and raps on the door. I'm sitting fully clothed in the base of the shower, water pouring relentlessly over my body.

"Roxas?" she questions. "You okay?"

"Yeah." I say, monotone, not bothering to raise my voice. There's a pause before she speaks again.

"Come out soon. It's almost dinner time,"

"Yeah." I repeat, reaching to turn the tap off. I've been in here longer than I thought. I push myself up; standing now I shake my head to get the hair out of my eyes. Seeing; it's the next big thing. I pull off my (Now soaked) jacket & shirt, throwing them into the dryer. I walk into my room, picking up a towel on the way, my jeans making a steady _drip, drip, drip, _on the floor.

After a few minutes I head downstairs to the 'family room' (We aren't a family-- why pretend?). Mom and dad are in there already, food set on white china plates in front of them.

And so ensued the silence.

My mom stabs something new with her fork, clearing her throat.

"How was your night?"

"Fine," I say quietly.

"That's good, what'd you three get up to?" she questions, her voice more eager than it should've been.

I pause, _Well mother, we got drunk, stoned, completely ruined Axels' CD player (I mean it's now reduced to a few pieces of plastic 'cause Demyx didn't like the song that was on) and then passed out. Oh, and I think Axels' gay as it were, didn't see much of Demyx after the CD epidemic; he managed to get stuck between the wall and the sofa. _

"We played. . . scrabble, studied for a geo test, the usual." I say shortly, dad chuckles darkly before staring daggers at me.

"Really? How 'bout you try something new, it's called telling the truth," he says, accentuating each word. I glare at him, he glares back, mom coughs oh-so-subtly and the phone starts ringing. I jump up straight away and move to it quickly.

"What?" I say, answering the phone, aggression tinting my voice.

"Roxas?" It asks uncertainly. Axel.

"No, this is Jesus speaking, may I inquire as to who's calling?" I say, already leaving the room, ignoring the look of disapproval my mother shoots me for 'taking thy lords name in vain' heh. I'm up the stairs and sitting on my bed before either of us speak again.

"_So_," I say, filling the silence with awkwardness.

"Yep,"

"Any reason for calling?" I ask, lying back

There's a long pause.

A _very _long pause.

"Sorry," he mutters, defeated.

"Eh?"

"I took advantage of your being stoned," he says awkwardly.

"I wasn't stoned, I was hung over," I say, eyes shutting in boredom. I hate it when he's right, so I make him not. But I am telling the truth, I was just very hung over.

"Yeah but--"

"Shut up Axel," I pause, "Besides, you got me out of 'family time' by calling," I add. He doesn't shut up though, he ignores me completely.

"Yeah, but," he starts again. "Then afterwards, _you _kissed me, how come?" he seems thoughtful. I shrug, not realizing he can't see me, or rather, not caring. "Roxas?"

"I shrugged," I point out.

"That's the problem with phones Roxas, I can't see you," his voice edges on aggressive, but he holds back.

"Just figured that out?" I ask, provoking him, voice still calm. He pauses, breathing heavily to calm himself down.

"You gonna be at school tomorrow?" he asks, changing the topic.

"Mhm,"

"Good," he says shortly, and then he hangs up.

--

The next morning passed relatively uneventfully. Axel sat closer than he should, acted bolder than necessary, nothing to out of the ordinary. Not that we _are _ordinary. Demyx is acting strange, as if he knows something, but is to friendly/cautious to bring it up. At the end of the day Axel gets me on my own and claims my lips again, but this time it didn't taste bad, and I didn't try to stop him.

I walk home slower than usual, delaying the time until I enter hell for the evening, I might go take some Polaroids if I can get away. Walking in slow motion was probably a good thing 'cause as I sidle up my drive two over-priced cars sit idly in the drive way. Bad omen.

I walk quickly and quietly past the living room, from which hushed voices are coming from, and upstairs into my room. I pick up my Polaroid camera from my desk and put it in my messenger bag along with a few packets of photo paper. I'll make Demyx and Axel come out with me later to take some pictures around the place.

I head downstairs now to find something edible, having ignored that custom so far today. But on getting to the bottom of the stairs my father has me by the scruff of the shirt, pushed against the wall. I cough, choking slightly as his fist presses against my neck. Using his other hand he holds a small clippy bag thing in front of my face. Oh, I should probably add, it's one of those clippy bags filled with a white powder. Wow, how did he get that? Is it my birthday already? Wait-- this is my father, not Axel.

"What's this?" he snarls.

"A clippy bag?" I say unsurely. Ahh, Ziploc bag, that's what it's called.

"What's in it?"

"How am I meant to know? You're the one holding it." I say, letting the panicky emotion slide from my face.

"It. Was. In. Your. Room," He accentuates each word. Oh. Shit.

"Oh, shit," I say, voicing my thoughts.

"It's not all that was in there," he says, calmly, hand still pressing against my throat, restricting my breathing. He drags me into the living room where mom sits, one hand holding her face up, the other secure around a wine glass. On the table in front of her is an nice collection of illegal substances and some rather awkward Polaroid's.

"You took my pictures," I growl angrily.

"We paid for that camera and the paper, we can take them if we like," says my mother, slowly and deliberately. I breathe in deeply, letting the anger sweep over me.

"You know what else you paid for?!" I ask, firing up. A wave a hand over the items in the box "Every last fucking bit, all your money! Don't take my fucking pictures!" I shout, letting my arms make elaborate movements. I lift up the small shoe box full of photos and drugs then kick over the table. I turn to run upstairs, but dad's hands latch onto my shirt. I pull and pull and eventually it rips and he staggers back. I pace quickly up to my room, locking the door after entering.

Well, shit, shit, shit. What now? I hear yelling coming from downstairs and I head over to my dresser, pull out some jeans and a jacket and shove them in my messenger bag, along with the box of Polaroid's and illicit substances. I hitch it over my shoulder and walk over to the window, yanking it open, cursing at it when it fails to cooperate in my first attempt. After succeeding to open aforementioned window I jump, which really, really, _really _wasn't a good idea. All I accomplish is landing heavily in the front garden, in a rose bush. However, I push my body even harder and stand up reluctantly, before running off down my street.

My run slows to a light jog and then into a slow amble, I suck in cold air through my teeth, muttering curses under my breath and rubbing my hands up and down my arms to warm myself. I end up at my supposed destination and bang on the door, no cars in the drive but lights on. There's a long pause between when I knock and when the door opens and the houses occupant leans against the door frame. He looks me up and down.

"Wow, you look like shit Roxy," Axel says.

"Thanks," I say, pushing past him, not failing to notice his (unsurprisingly) bloodshot eyes, and the fact that he almost falls over at my light nudge.

"What's theeeeee mattahh?" he sings, following me into the kitchen.

"I'm hungry is what's the matter," I say ripping open his fridge and scanning it.

"Yes, I see," he slurs. "But _why _are you **here**?" he traces his finger through the air to point out where I was.

"My parents found stuff," I say shortly. He sighs, it's sad really, four words and everything is justified "Will yours mind if I'm here?"

He just shrugs and pulls a packet of chips from the cupboard, then throws them at me. We sit at the table quietly for what seems like a millennium, the crunching of chips between us is all that disturbs the silence. He doesn't seem to notice though, he is dead silent, staring at me, but not exactly seeing. His eyes glazed over making them look like he's dead. I pause from eating and wave a hand in front of his face.

"Axel?" I say. No response. "**Axel?**" I repeat, much louder. He jumps a bit and his emerald eyes slide into focus and move slightly to meet mine, questioningly.

"Hmm?"

"What's the matter?" I ask. He simply taps his head a few times.

"Just thinking I suppose," he stares blankly at me for a long moment before slamming his head down on the table, his long red hair spilling over his shoulders.

"But you don't think," I say raising an eyebrow.

"I know," comes his muffled reply. "I can't help it

"You're stoned right?" I ask. He looks up at me with something that says 'Dumbfuck, you NEED to ask?' I draw in a breath. "It's weird. You've never been this coherent since--" I pause, then open my mouth to speak again but stop and shut it, letting the sentence sorta just hang there.

"Right back at you," He says randomly, making me frown in confusion. He lifts his head up, looks at me then slams it right back down. He starts muttering quickly in French, god knows how he learnt it, he just sort of knows. I fold my arms on the table and rest my chin atop them. He stops suddenly, face still down I can only see the corner of one eye and his cheek. "Roxas?"

"Yeah-huh?"

"Je'taime vous," he says each word deliberately.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing," He rocks his head over so he's leaning on cheek, looking at me. He blinks a few times, and mirror him. I can feel his surprisingly cold breath just reaching my face, he seems far to close but I can't be bothered to care. He lifts his head an inch from the table, mutters something that I don't quite understand and his face moves closer to mine. His breath remains steady, washing across my face, whereas mine hitches, stopping for the moment in which he closes the space between us. I blush red, eyes still wide open. He pulls back.

"Quoi?" he breathes quietly, an expression clearly labled "I'm CONFUSED".

"It's not normal," I say softly, letting my eyes wander away from his intense stare, possibly glare. "It's not right,"

"I don't understand," he says. I glance back for a moment, his brow pressed together in confusion. "Didn't you like it?"

"No it's not—It just," I stutter a bit trying to explain myself. "I shouldn't like it," I sigh letting my eyes drift to a close.

There's a short pause.

"Kiss me," he commands, loudly. I look back at him, a little startled.

"Why?"

"Do it," He says firmly, as though he was a parent ordering around a child.

And as though heaven itself were on my side, who knows why it would be, my phone, wedged between my pants and the Polaroid paper in my duffel bag, begins to ring. I dive for it, contents of my bag spilling out. I flip it open without thinking.

"ROXA—" And then I snap it back fast. Axel chuckles then is silent again.

" I can't," I say, more to myself than him.

"Of course you can't," he says, I look up at him and he's smiling, but it's painfully forced. He pauses, and the smile creeps away. "I'm sleepy," he says, throwing out a fake yawn.

"It's five thirty,"

"**I'm tired**." He growls, getting up and walking to his downstairs room. I fumble to push all my things back in my bag before padding down the hall, through the black door and down to his room.

He's lying there, eyes pulled shut, biting his lip and all I can do is just stand there and stare at him.


	3. Like Christmas

Axel, Axel, Axel, Axel

_Axel, __**Axel, **_**Axel, **Axel. He reminded me of Christmas, ever since the first ever time I met him. Which, suspiciously enough, happened to be the day I had '_jingle bells_' stuck in my mind all day.

_Red and green and red and green and red._

That was the other way – when I was completely fucking out of it – that I could tell him and Demyx apart. Demyx was summery, green calming eyes and sandy blonde hair that reminded me of, well… sand. Axel on the other hand had pale skin, as though he'd been locked away from sunlight, which he sort of had. The complexion most people had in the dead of winter.

As with their personalities, which I have spoken of before, happy Summery Demyx and

…

Axel.

I mean, don't get me wrong. Axels' not some kind of pissy little tosser. The only time I even saw him _close _to crying after a particularly bad coke trip. He woke up more Christmassy then ever. Red like blood.

And there was blood…

… E_verywhere._

He'd managed to get himself into the state of mind where the bugs join you. We'd all gotten them at one point, even Demyx. Coke bugs. Axel had woken me with a sobbing painful noise, which most people describe as a scream. But no, Axel didn't screech like anyone else would have, he bit his lip and held his breath. He had slits and torn skin all along his forearms, thighs, calves and stomach. Clotted up but, shit, they'd been deep. Luckily, and quite surprisingly, he'd managed to avoid the main blood lines. It didn't kill him but he was begging us for something, a knife, a blade, anything sharp _to stop the burning_.

We're stupid. But not that dumb.

We bound him up fast and took him to Demyx's (who's house we were at) mother, a nurse named Aerith, and had her stitch him up. She was overly tolerant. Do be honest; she sort of scares me in that aspect.

Anyway that's sorta irrelevant, the point of the matter was this:

Axel Christmas

Demyx Summer.

He even tastes like Christmas…

The end….

Wait no… that wasn't the point, the point was, that no matter how much agony he is in he just bites his lip and get's over it.

… Wait, again… That… was the point… right.

No?

Okay then, just pretend it was a history lesson.


End file.
